As part of my endless mission to punish myself daily, I spend a lot of time driving along the New York State Thruway. My job is 70 miles from where I live, so in a given week I might spend somewhere between 8 and 10 hours driving in a straight line while contemplating awkward moments I had in eighth grade, the name of that one woman who flirted with me at the gym four years ago or what roadside cuisine is least likely to create a Jackson Pollack painting in my trousers.

When it comes to the food offered at the fine establishments operated by the state of New York, the pickings are rather slim. Short of the oddball Tim Horton’s, you’re left with a heaping pile of mediocrity fit for a frazzled father, his impatient wife and their three constantly wheezing children. With that in mind, I humbly offer an unwanted and unwarranted opinion ranking the best and worst food stops along the I-90 corridor. Bon appetit!

Arby’s – The thing I love about Arby’s is that it’s always good and no matter where I go I’m never surprised by the price. If there’s one thing I know about this roast beef slinging shitshow, it’s that I’m guaranteed to walk out of the restaurant minus a $20 and covered in Horsey sauce. I don’t care if it’s made out of ass meat and oatmeal, they never mail it in.

Burger King – Burger King is like that friend your mom had you hang out with in high school so you wouldn’t end up in the back of a cop car for spray painting angsty teen nonsense on the side of a bridge. It’s safe, consistent and, albeit a little bland, not bad at all for what you’re actually getting. With that said, don’t trust the eggs unless you have a fetish for eating rubber bands.

Dunkin’ Donuts – Around these parts, Dunkin’ is a bit of a regional delicacy. A poor man’s Starbucks, this chain is known for glomming onto whatever is cool and pushing it to the verge of unbearable. If Dunkin’ Donuts was a musical act, it would be Pitbull. If Dunkin’ was a person, I imagine they would walk into a crowded bar and push everyone out of the way just so it can order a gin and tonic with extra cucumber juice.

McDonald’s – What can I say about McDonald’s that can’t also be said about a dominatrix? The second your foot hits that white tiled dungeon of depravity, there’s a McDouble in your mouth like a meaty ball gag and a whip made of fries smacking your ass. The only thing left to do at that point is grin and bear it until you actually have to pay up, which inevitably leaves my wallet as empty as my lard-filled soul.

Roy Rogers – If you had asked me when I was eight years old what I thought of Roy Rogers’, I would have extolled the virtue of their moist, flavorful chicken. And those biscuits! Tap-dancing Christ, those biscuits were like flaky pillows! Now? I’d rather eat my own farts than touch anything coming out of this culinary dumpster fire. In the same way some athletes retire long after their peak, ol’ Roy should have shut this place down when they had KFC on the ropes.

Starbucks – Nope. If I’m paying $7 dollars for coffee, I’d rather just burn it at home and save myself the attitude.

Sbarro – Sbarro is the lowest common denominator of Thruway food. You like pizza? Yeah, me too. But that’s not what you’re getting here. I imagine before taking over a Sbarro franchise, every manager must spend a week in the wilderness learning how to craft their signature pies using nothing but things they’ve found on the ground. After several harrowing days left alone with their thoughts, a tired and weary manager stumbles out of the woods with a pizza made out of moistened tree bark, squirrel blood, and shredded styrofoam. That pizza, much like their other wares, is proudly displayed like a curated museum piece for all to admire but never purchase. It’s a shame, really.

So, there you have it! You don’t need to take my advice (no one ever does), but consider it some valuable insight from a man who’s 50 pounds overweight and spends countless hours during the week shuffling along I-90. And until next time… Happy Eating!

If you want to get in on the action, I guess send it to me at metten0(_at_)gmail. I have no idea what the mockable.org email even is anymore, much less how to open it and read stuff. See you guys soon…and comment for chissake willya?

This one’s from longtime Mockable friend and contributor, Gino. It’s super good…so good it almost motivated me to get off my ass and write something myself…almost. Thanks Gino!

I’ll admit it: I love watching shitty television shows about people left alone to “survive” in the jungle. There’s something fascinating about watching two naked preppers get their asses eaten by mosquitoes and yell at each other while spooning under the shade of a grass hut that really trips my trigger. Is it because these people have trained day and night for years just for the chance to starve in the Amazon for three weeks? Maybe it’s because the story arc of every episode is the same? But, really, it’s probably the fact that when I’m watching these shows I think to myself that I can do it, too.

Mind you, I’m not in peak physical shape. I can’t do a pull-up, I avoid most other exercise like a $2 Vegas all-you-can-eat buffet, and haven’t willingly eaten a salad since Obama’s first term. But that doesn’t stop me from pulling out the “coulda gone pro” classics like, “She isn’t even trying out there!” and “He couldn’t make fire with gasoline and a match.” It’s just so easy to say things when I’m watching someone nervously flail a sharpened stick at a snake that, frankly, is not having any of their shit today. But I digress…

It’s the art of these shows that keeps me coming back every week (and while I’m working from home with my ass planted squarely in the center of the couch to watch reruns in between articles). Every episode starts the same way. Two trucks roll through the dusty/wet/rocky terrain, each one carrying a fully clothed and cocky survivalist. The survivors, a man and a woman, spout off a little bullshittery about how they killed a boar once with nothing but a shoelace and half a stick of Big Red, and then they start ripping off their clothes. After some awkward but necessary time to acclimate to each other’s junk, they saunter off through the vines to kick nature’s ass.

From that point on all hell breaks loose, and next thing you know you’re watching two naked people crying in the dark while trying to eat sticks. The complete turnaround with these people after two days is something you couldn’t make up, even if you wanted to. And every single time I think to myself, “Pssssssssh, I ate a Skittle off the floor at work once and it was totally fine!” But lo and behold, having a steel stomach doesn’t appear to be a hot commodity in the swamp, especially when a good portion of the day seems to be devoted to either crapping behind a bush or laying down on a big, flat rock. I really shouldn’t poke too much fun at them, though. They’re living the dream and getting to see the world in all its untouched glory. Meanwhile, I had a full-blown panic attack at Target once because they moved the deodorant to the other end of the aisle.

In reality, I know what side my bread is buttered on and it sure as hell isn’t the side that thinks a grub is worth eating without some tempura batter and a Fry Daddy. But for one hour a week (and four to six hours on Thursdays depending on Discovery’s programming schedule), I’m right there with them strangling the life out of a snake with my bare hands. That’s good enough for me.

If you want to get in on the action, I guess send it to me at metten0(_at_)gmail. I have no idea what the mockable.org email even is anymore, much less how to open it and read stuff. See you guys soon…and comment for chissake willya?

Chris Cornell commited suicide at the age of 52. He had a charmed life…living in Paris, with a stunning wife and three adolescent children. After a sold-out gig in Detroit Rock City, he took his own life. God damn it all..he’s going to make a beautiful corpse. Ponce De Leon dropped him the code for the Fountain of Youth…in life he was forever handsome & thin, dangerous & clever.

Cornell was a beautiful shining black unicorn, and many of us Generation Xers clutched to his horn to get through the 90s. We all fell on black days, but Soundgarden was there with another album to bail us out with songs that hit us between the eyes, straight through the heart, or right in the gut. A fantastic icon we could feel, but never touch.

***Cool Story Bro: In 92 I saw Soundgarden & Pearl Jam at the Bronco Bowl in Dallas. Was there to to see SG more than PJ, but whatever. When Soundgarden started, my buddy & I ditched our dates to get down & dirty on the floor. In the pit. Get sweaty & greasy.

When Cornell executed a stage dive, he was getting passed around all over, his lustrous flowing curly mane of dark hair flowing over all supporting hands. This tiny blonde chick next to me thrust her hand into his hair, & grabbed a fistful with a deathgrip. She was intent on leaving with a souvenior from her rock god. When the crowd tried to push him back to the stage, she would not relent. She was getting picked up off her feet…she was either going back up to the stage with him, or leaving with a significant clump of his hair.

I grabbed her with both hands on her forearm, burying my thumbs deep between the bones of her radius & ulna, causing her to release her grip. She looked up at me like I was totally malicious & evil, & I returned the same glance. She could lick the conditioner off her pudgy hand, but she wasn’t gonna scalp him.

Again, his lyrics pulled no punches, causing us to explore the depths of ourselves. The darkness was no marketing ploy to sell records, because here we are today mourning his death, wondering what the fuck happened. Seriously…WTF HAPPENED?!?

WHY would a full-blown, freaking ROCK STAR take his own life? I’m still fully completely baffled.

Between hearing about Magic Johnson with HIV in 91 & Kurt Vonnegut’s passing in 07…how can I relate to such news about my heroes? I feel the same way today, actually much more, than either of those times. Magic’s promiscuity had consequences, Vonnegut was long in the tooth…but I have no justification for the most recent.

The cruel irony of Cornell’s death- is the medicine that he so beautifully, thunderously and eloquently dispensed to the masses for so many years- about sorrow, darkness, depression, and death- eventually got him.

How many of us have been able to give quality advice to our fellows regarding serious matters, but not able to hear that same wisdom in our own lives? Because we are exceptionally broken in our own minds, and not able to believe that we posess the ability to address our own problems, because we are so utterly flawed?

I have no answers, or witty anecdotes. I mourn for a man that influenced my life and has given me much release for the demons that have plagued me.

High volume, head banging, sweet release.

Sorry your demons got you Chris. I’ll keep fighting the good fight with the armour you left behind.

XO-LF

]]>http://mockable.org/lakr-mourns-the-loss-of-chris-cornell/feed/1I’ve Seen a Thing or Two…http://mockable.org/ive-seen-a-thing-or-two/
http://mockable.org/ive-seen-a-thing-or-two/#commentsThu, 22 Dec 2016 10:51:31 +0000http://mockable.org/?p=2872My wife’s dog is my best friend. She is happiest when she travels someplace and visits people. She seems to know when a trip is entirely for her benefit. Under these circumstances, I have seen that dog have literal seizures of happiness.

She is most unhappy when she feels as though it’s necessary to protect the people she loves. She is second most unhappy when I stare at an electronic screen of some sort for extended periods. She will put up with it for about eight hours, then she gets pissed.

As I slog my way through Lars von Trier’s 2014 Nymphomaniac films, I am beginning to see why. There are moments of extreme beauty, but they come at a price. More than twice I’ve heard Chief Wiggum yell, “Stop in the name of American squeamishness!!” in my head.

So far I’ve had to watch someone wipe Christian Slater’s ass, look at Shia LaBeouf’s penis, and observe Uma Thurman’s head. So far it’s been worth it, but I am likely to come out of this thing as a different person.

I hope my wife’s dog still loves me.

]]>http://mockable.org/ive-seen-a-thing-or-two/feed/1Lakrfool Fridayhttp://mockable.org/lakrfool-friday/
http://mockable.org/lakrfool-friday/#respondFri, 09 Dec 2016 15:24:47 +0000http://mockable.org/?p=2868Another kickass installment by Lakr. I swear to Jibbers, we’re gonna make something together when he gets back. The guy is super talented.

Fridays at Mockable are generally for guests. While I no longer know the password to the mockable email address, you can sent me stuff at metten0*at*gmail. If it isn’t plagiarized or racist or whatever, I’ll certainly display it proudly. Thanks – metten

When the calendar indicates that it is on or near Thanksgiving day, I tell people, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

When the calendar indicates that it is on or near Christmas day, I tell people, “Merry Christmas.”

The same goes for every holiday in the holiday season. When it’s November 20th or December 10th or whatever, and I doubt I will see that person again before the holiday season ends, I say, “Happy Holidays.”

You see, that’s how a language works, you simple fuck. Different words mean different things. This is why I don’t call my car a cheeseburger.

So…dick…if I wish you happy holidays and you attempt to correct me, I will immediately rescind any wishes for your happiness and well-being. If there are stairs nearby, I may attempt to sucker-kick you down them. You’re just as annoying as the politically correct people – and you’ve officially been warned.

]]>http://mockable.org/merry-holidays/feed/2Happy Friday: The Return of LakrFoolhttp://mockable.org/happy-friday-the-return-of-lakrfool/
http://mockable.org/happy-friday-the-return-of-lakrfool/#commentsFri, 02 Dec 2016 16:05:30 +0000http://mockable.org/?p=2860I met LakrFool over ten years ago when we were writing for Jeff Kay’s The West Virginia Surf Report. On average, he has forced me to learn about three supercool things I didn’t yet know existed while tricking me into releasing at least six involuntary full belly laughs per week…though thick and fucking thin. I love this guy. I can’t wait to make stuff with him again. – metten

I’m trying my hand at single panel comics. I’m going to be off the grid for a while…but I want to contribute.

Please say mostly nice things about this contribution in the comments. Fridays at Mockable are generally for guests. While I no longer know the password to the mockable email address, you can sent me stuff at metten0*at*gmail. If it isn’t plagiarized or racist or whatever, I’ll certainly display it proudly. Thanks – metten

Writes So Good He Cleans Toilets to Keep Him Humble…and, You Know…to Eat

A New Beginning Accompanied by the Spilling of Guts

Um…hi. Welcome back to mockable.org. It’s been a while, huh? Anyway, I’m metten. I have missed almost all of you guys, as well as the emotions that most humans refer to as “happiness” and “laughter”. I want very badly to re-establish my connection with most of you while reintroducing an abundance of the two aforementioned emotions back into my bloodstream.

However, I need to tell you guys a story first that I think might make it easier to understand where I am coming from as well as what I hope mockable.org will eventually become. The hilarious, talented, and consistently supportive Jeff Kay (has given me his blessing to use the site, so I figure we should at least make an effort to tap into its vast potential. Here goes:

I hesitate to tell this story as I was raised by, and later chose to surround myself with, people who care a great deal about what other people think. Some of these people go so far as to iron their jeans before going to WalMart, lest one of their dentally-challenged regulars think ill of them. Others spend an inordinate amount of time constructing amazingly creative scenarios in which they embarrass themselves in front of people who don’t know them and couldn’t give less of a shit about them than they currently do. My loved ones then spend the remainder of the day destroying their stomach lining while inaccurately handicapping the odds that their mental scenario will become reality. Despite the fact that I find vanity to be among the ugliest of human traits and as a result, many of my own ugly personal traits have come into being after overcorrecting so that I might avoid becoming vain, I love these people very much. I do not wish to hurt them.

Neither do I wish to withhold the truth from you, dear mocker. I need your trust…and the only reason to bend the truth even slightly is to get a laugh. The new first rule is to be funny. The new second rule is to be genuine. My vanity, pride, and desire for continued positive relationships should not be protected at your expense. The final analysis prescribes that I tell you the unabated truth (with the possible exception of stuff that might get me in trouble all over again) and hope that all involved can forgive me later.

There are three types of people in this world: there are those that find a way to do what they are passionate about for a living. These people are referred to as “lucky assholes”. Other people sell their time and skills so that they might finance their participation in activities that they are passionate about. These people are generally referred to as “regular people”. Finally, there are people whose surroundings, for one reason or another, only permit them to be passionate about their daily survival. They don’t get to mountain bike, write novels, mime it up in the park, or even have weird sex fetishes. All they seem to be allowed to do is walk around with a really hungry look on their face while dodging machete-bullets.

Anyone not in the third group should be considered a lucky asshole as they have found their way into environmental conditions that are at a level of evolution in which they are not likely to be a victim of genocide or food for something that is stronger and faster. Of course, lucky assholes like us never think of life in this way. If one approaches a random stranger on the street and asks them what they wish for, not a single one of them will claim to be a completely satisfied individual who wants for nothing. I am no different. My lifelong desire is to be employed in any capacity that allows me to connect with people through art. While my patreon page discusses this phenomenon in greater detail, my efforts to reach this goal through unconventional means and various other paths less traveled have left me a broken shell of a human being. Back when I was playing by the rules, I was profoundly unhappy. I am profoundly unhappy right now as well. At least back then I had a six-figure salary.

Jeff might have a different answer, but on the surface, I believed the purpose of this site was to use our extraordinary God-given talent to go out, observe the world and mockingly report back to you guys on the stuff that we found ridiculous. It seemed like the kind of thing that would appeal to Surf Reporters while attracting new readers who might want to forward the link about people who wear cologne around the office in a passive aggressive plea for justice. Sadly, it never quite caught on.

Below the surface, I believed the site was an effort to build a large platform of friends and supporters with whom we could poke fun at the world, and eventually sell our books to. His book, Crossroads Road was almost ready to go. My book, Smelling Melville, had been done for a few months (or so I thought). As you probably know, the site met with a mixed response. Despite a few years of genuine effort, we never really clocked more than a few thousand unique visitors per day. Smoking Fish released Crossroads Road and it did pretty well thanks to strong writing and support from Surf Reporters. Smelling Melville continues to exist only on my hard drive and in a couple of different landfills, after being delivered there because some literary agent’s first tier reader elected to chuck it.

Though mostly a coincidence, I spent the following years trying and failing at different plans, strategies, and professions that all featured an apogee where I was either employed as someone who entertains people or rich enough to be an amateur person who entertains people full-time. The only other thing these activities had in common was that their Rube Goldberg complexity was matched only by their stupidity. I sunk lower and lower with each failure. Eventually I quit writing. Then I quit reading. Then I started smoking cigarettes again. Then I quit taking important medicine like insulin. Then I employed unfair and unduly harsh criticism in order to ostracize myself from people. After that there was only one thing left to take care of…

I couldn’t do it. Nobody stepped in at the last minute and convinced me of the value of human life. No one made me realize what a lucky asshole I truly was. Despite multiple loud and unproductive nervous breakdowns, no one drove me to a hospital and put me into a padded room where they watched my every move. None of those things happened. In fact, I was left alone for entire days and provided a myriad of avenues through which I could get the job done. I still couldn’t do it. I was too much of a coward to take the coward’s way out. I had failed at the ultimate failure. I owe my life to the fact that I am a pussy.

It actually gets worse than that, but that’s enough for today. I’ll pick it up in a future installment. I guess the point is that there are few things more mockable than a 40-year-old man with no real job prospects and no money in the bank, who refuses to let go of childhood dreams despite multiple warning from friends, family, and apparently, God Himself.

Expect future posts to contain similar, yet slightly less depressing memoir-type stuff, bloggy updates, and rants about shit I hate even more than me. How’s that for a specific blog niche?

Patreon subscribers (and my wife, if she sticks around) will get access to what I hope will be my carefully-considered, conservatively managed return to sanity, solvency, and perhaps even prosperity as well as other stuff designed to exceed the value of their participation.

If you need someone who knows words…someone who, in fact, has possession of and the rights to assemble and distribute the best words – please go give me money in exchange for them here.

]]>http://mockable.org/the-most-mockable-of-all/feed/1Is There Life?http://mockable.org/is-there-life/
http://mockable.org/is-there-life/#commentsSat, 09 Apr 2016 16:02:01 +0000http://mockable.org/?p=2833Might something be happening here? Do you have any interest in such a possibility?

]]>http://mockable.org/is-there-life/feed/2Somebody Please Save Me From My Brain!http://mockable.org/somebody-please-save-me-from-my-brain/
http://mockable.org/somebody-please-save-me-from-my-brain/#commentsMon, 15 Jul 2013 18:22:12 +0000http://mockable.org/?p=2791So the song of the day yesterday was the Entertainment Tonight theme song. I briefly considered killing myself just to make it stop. Then I wondered who wrote it. Then I wondered if the same person wrote all the theme songs for news magazine shows. You know, like the John Williams of shitty tabloid television.

Turns out the answer is no. The ET theme was written by Michael S. Mark. Then I giggled briefly at the name Mikey Mark. Then I started thinking about the movie Citizen Kane and how the story was basically just tabloid television with a sled thrown in for the sake of art. I am a fan of depth of field technology advancement and it’s a solid picture and everything, but I think it’s safe to stop calling it the greatest movie of all time. My vote goes to Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

Then I started thinking about that movie and how every second of that thing is amazing. And how the music was amazing. And how the idea of adapting a circa 8th century BC epic poem into a depression era period piece is the kind of brilliance that I don’t think I am capable of. Then I started wondering why they included Robert Johnson. It worked, but there was already so much going on…

Then I continued thinking about Robert Leroy Johnson. Originally I was calling him Robert Wood Johnson in my head. Turns out Robert Wood Johnson is a totally different guy. Of course I knew that, but my brain was just messing with me. Stupid brain. Then I wondered, if a person knew that Robert Johnson had met the devil at the crossroads and traded his soul for guitar skills, could they listen to and enjoy his music without it being a sin? I don’t think they could.

Then I started thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve watched that movie. And how long it’s been since I listened to Robert Johnson. I wondered if either of those things would be as good today as they were when I was introduced to them. Then I thought about the time I returned to my first public school, Southeast Elementary in Ankeny, Iowa as an adult. The classrooms and hallways used to be huge. Now they are tiny. Of course, back then I was like 36″ tall, now I am 6’1″.

I wondered if everything from my childhood was like that. Would scout camp be miniaturized? Would the enormous and scary P.E. teacher with the booming voice be midgetesque? It was then that I had the scariest thought I have had for a very long time – What about Debi Odem’s breasts? Oh the humanity!

For yet another brief moment I considered embracing the suicide option to make my brain stop torturing me, then I realized why all this was happening. See, I used to have a job that was so wide in its scope of responsibilities that it kept my mind occupied. Now that I do mindless labor for less than half the federal government’s definition of poverty, my stupid brain is free to meander about leisurely – reading obscure, long abandoned files about film classes I took 20 years ago and blues records I listened to 25 years ago. This might be a good thing. I could uncover something important. I honestly doubt it though. Frankly, the feeling is uncomfortable and the thoughts are annoying.

Can someone do me a favor and free me from my brain by giving me a complicated job that pays above the poverty level? I would very much appreciate it, the kids would be very grateful because they could eat something other than ramen, the people around me would be thankful because they wouldn’t have to listen to me debate with myself about the contributions made to the world by Robert Wood Johnson vs the contributions made to the world by Robert Leroy Johnson and Debi Odem wouldn’t be so creeped out. I promise to show up to wherever this job is and work as hard as I can for you. It would be a win-win-win-win-win situation. How about it? Thanks in advance for your time, attention and kind consideration.